Torn
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: After Theatre Some years after Vincent left Luciel to make his own living, Luke's adopted daughter Saph has been kidnapped. Luke calls upon the one man he trusts to get her back... but this battle will test the strength of both men if they want to survive
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: What a vaguely interesting idea, to write a sequel to Theatre. I expect great things from myself, but the best thing is to just 'write'. It's the most wonderful experience, to have this power of words...

Anyways... this is a working first chapter... be honest, no matter what.

- - - -

The taste of copper filled his nostrils as the powder caught with fire, while the gun he carried sent a death messenger into the cold air and heating it with the cutting smell of fresh metal and gunpowder. He did not expect the scent to catch him off guard, but he pondered over it while the bullet buried itself in the hip-joint of his immediate enemy, the man with the ice blue eyes. He was an opponent worth fighting; it gave the gunfighter something to distract his mind with. The dark figure who had shot the blue-eyed man was bleeding freely from a few wounds himself. These wounds he endured silently, for pain was the clear (in fact, the only) path to his redemption.

He fired another tiny missile into the man's forehead before the string of curses as a result of his pain could flow forth like a stream of verbal vomit. The man fell face first into the dirt; he was the very last to fall, and Vincent was neither pleased nor relieved. Neither was he unhappy or untroubled.

In the narrow alley where he stood in the littered remnants of Midgar, Vincent Valentine had been ambushed for the price on his head. He was responsible for countless murders, and where he had hoped to avoid the distant past, it came haunting him again. His life as a Turk would never let him rest. When he was finished helping Cloud reclaim the world and return it back to a somewhat workable order, he had retired to his coffin once more to ruminate over the sins he had atoned for - and ones that still remained.

These men claimed that he had killed many of their brethren during his battles with Cloud. They were thugs, and honor-sworn to avenge their brothers. They smelled of sweat, death, sex, and even drugs. Many did not care one whit for the men they had lost and had tagged along to see death. Well...

They saw, and many fled. Vincent spared the cowards. If they had any convictions, they may have changed now that he's shown them the very value of their existence. Their families would not be without brothers, fathers, or sons or husbands now. The last man standing was the very leader himself, the one who spoke the most and had a big mouth but not much brains. But he was a fast shooter despite being slow of mind.

Vincent turned away from the carnage as he calmly reloaded all of his weapons. He limped into the bright daylight, trembling as he leaned on one leg and found that he probably wouldn't walk far. Regardless, he moved onward with his teeth set against each other, grinding, grinding away against the pain. It would have to wait until he returned to his hotel.

An hour passed. As he passed from the gang-like atmosphere of the East side and into the West partitioned section of the fallen city of Midgar, he saw less of young men with guns and more young children running around playing. He stayed on the other side of the street for their sake. They ignored him and chased each other with water balloons, splashing each other and shrieking with delight across the sun-baked earth. It was hottest in Midgar. The shanties were lined up in neat rows now and families were beginning to call their children in for lunch.

When it struck noon, the gunman stopped to rest against the side of an old apartment building that had fallen thousands of feet above to crumble like a paper bag into the ground below. The structure was compromised with cracks and pieces missing from the top. Small weeds and grasses grew near the bottom and the rubble bowled out where the rest had fallen in melancholy pieces. He leaned against the wall there, his head bent as he kept his breath in control. The daylight didn't pierce the shadows, but the unbearable heat still made the sweat crawl over his flesh. It felt like insects. Insects that all began to hiss like cicadas in the heat of day. Slow, agonizing pulses of unsynchronized sound. Swelling and falling away like waves.

The agony was catching up with him. To give himself a break, he rested against the wall, the gunman lowering his head to keep the rising sun out of his eyes. His remedy was a bed that was still several blocks away; making it in time would be a miracle before the beast that lay dormant in his soul clawed its way from his body.

Through a blurred succession of fast-paced images, snapshots of places that he'd been, reshuffled to fit in no particular order at all, the last image fell into place before his blurred eyes. He was lying in the hotel room, safe and sound, half-naked, a cold sweat leeching his warmth away through the wetness between his shoulders.

By the look of the skyline outside, it was well past night and edging on morning. He found his clothes on the floor, thrown from him in hither-thither method, scattering the floor like obscure mountain ranges of black and red.

He stood up, swiping his locks from his face. In the bathroom, as he gazed into the mirror after washing his face. His pallid, gaunt face peered back at him with that same paralyzing intensity that left his enemies trembling. Set in that face ... two brilliant rubies, glinting with the only hint of life left in him.

He showered, hoping that the hot water would bring some color back into his body. It was a correct surmise, and he left the hotel feeling somewhat refreshed, in clean clothes that were washed after his shower by the service.

The cashier stopped him at the door. "This came for you," she said, sliding an envelope across the counter.

Vincent blinked, and took it outside. Someone had printed his name on the front; the neat white paper inside had another name that, when read, caused Vincent to nearly drop it into the puddle.

- - - -

Luciel's office, its homey decor almost giving the illusion of a second home, had a peaceful quiet that was obliterated when a certain blonde man charged into it, throwing his jacket into his chair and falling into a small loveseat that was next to the huge bay window, giving full panoramic view of Kalm's river, that spilled freely into the ocean. The sunlight turned the water gold, a body of honey that flowed from some unknowable source.

Luciel was not necessarily in a honey-like mood. In fact, he was suffused with a terrible furor unlike anything he'd known in his life. In the time it took to run outside and jump into his car, drive to the schoolyard only to see that it was empty of children but full of police, he had answered a phone call that the officer was already dialing.

The lieutenant policeman, a gray-headed handsome fellow with sharp, steely blue eyes had informed him that someone had kidnapped a number of children from the schoolyard right in front of the teacher's eyes. "Your daughter was one of them," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. We got the license plate, which is helpful but... it also links the vehicle to some very uncanny characters."

Which meant that the police could do only so much to satisfy the worries of the parents, give them reason to believe that the investigation was going somewhere. Luciel wasn't buying it.

Saph was his only kid, a light in the darkness of his life that seemed so monotonous. Aside from his bustling arms business, which generated an alarming amount of revenue, his life was empty and drastically close to becoming unbearable. When he adopted Saph, an orphan from Midgar, things seemed easier to bear. She had an attitude, which was charming and frustrating at the same time. But her love was clear and crystal; she may had have her days, but never failed to be grateful to him for taking her in.

So he'd written a detailed letter, included a picture, and sent several messengers to track down the only man he ever trusted. Unfortunately, that man moved around so much that it would not be clear until Vincent Valentine, the man in red, showed up at his doorstep or in his office later on that week.

So Luciel was stuck at that moment in his office, too angry to be hopeful, too worried to work. He raked a hand through his tousled blonde hair, which through many style experiments, refused to be tamed. Then he sat down behind his desk and opened one of the drawers with a key. He extracted a small folded sheet of yellowed paper. He opened it gingerly, and stroked the words on the page. It was old, and through many musings and much caressing, it had developed holds in the folds where two folds intersected.

He folded it up once more and replaced it, locking the drawer with a small key he wore around his neck. Aside from that, the one thing he always carried with him nowadays was a gun. It was an investment that had saved his skin a few times. And he realized that once he'd traveled with Vincent so long ago, the ability to shoot never really faded. It was an instinct, more than a skill... although Vincent would always have the better bullet hit percentage.

Nervous, he rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, trying to press the tension away from behind his eyes. A message came through the intercom.

"Luke, another box of flowers came from your supporters."

"Who is it from this time?"

"Mr. Wallace. He says he understands and wishes you the best and hopes your daughter will be returned."

"Thank you. I mean, tell him thanks for me, willya, Laurie?"

Maybe he was wrong; maybe Vincent wouldn't come at all. He had no guarantee other than their shared past that the ex-Turk would come at all. About the only thing he knew was the group of people who had kidnapped the kids, and not a clue about where they were hiding them. It had to have been in Midgar, because Kalm was too small a town to be smuggling children.

"I'm screwed," he said softly to himself. "I'm never going to find her alone!" He smacked his desk, making his pencil cup jump and spill its contents across a dull wooden landscape.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Thanks for reviewing, those of you who are still loyally faithful to me. I do provide a great deal of your entertaining reading material, right? Otherwise you wouldn't come here. Erm. Anyway, ignore me trying to make myself feel better.

- - - -

Vincent Valentine switched his grasp on the subway bar overhead to his metal hand. He looked perfectly alone, but that was because half of the folks who were in the intercity car with him had crammed themselves away from him. They feared him - it was natural, they'd had much to fear for months during the time when Sephiroth had stolen the Black Materia and threatened complete annihilation with it. Many people still looked up at the sky only to sigh in relief that there was no longer any Meteor hovering like a worrying nest of hornets on the ceiling of blue sky.

Their suspicions did not end with the slaying of Sephiroth and the final banishment of Meteor into the sea. People could take one look at Vincent and the nightmares returned. He reminded them of the horrors that had been; of horrors that they could not have comprehended unless they beheld it with their own eyes. Vincent shrank into himself, turning his unholy red gaze from them and instead looked as the walls of the redeveloped subway tunnel sped past.

The letter was crisp and clear. It had the sharp flavor of something that had been rewritten many times, probably in one's head, before ever touching paper. It was Luciel's writing alright, and the picture of the little girl was oddly a shocking reality check. Luciel was asking him to rescue his little girl and the children from a group of mass murderers. Murderers, perhaps, that had already killed them, the letter explained, but Luciel's writing looked desperate as he insisted that it was no excuse not to look anyway.

Vincent felt the subway tilt. The nauseating sensation of a fast object slowing down pulled at his innards; when it gave a final, gut-gurgling lurch he released the bar and stepped toward the door to get off. Luciel's home office was just in this quiet area of Kalm. This was the only rail system that even went out as far as Kalm anyway. Nobody was really interested in going to Midgar anymore. The people behind him wandered out and talked amongst themselves while he left up into the sunlight into Kalm's proper.

There were three roads. The left road led to the picket fence homes of about a dozen or so families, expanded after people began to move out of Midgar and head toward Kalm. The middle road led to squatting, dirty piers whose hunkered down in the water like ugly ducks. Finally, the road on the right led into the part of town that had the business. Vincent took that road, cobbled with an assortment of ocean rocks that were weathered as much from the sea as they were from hundreds of feet walking them every week.

Nobody was following him, so that was good. He had already noted several times during the time of his journey underground that the subway was a very good means to smuggle small children out of Midgar. For one thing, he had counted the number of empty alcoves that went into other roads, service caverns and emergency stations along the way. Vincent knew now that he would have to look for clues, even if it was something as insignificant as an odd glance from a person.

He divulged no clues at all. Even when all of the small hints around him were divested of the ordinary, he perceived no threats at all. Vincent gritted his teeth and waited in the lobby of the penthouse to gain access to the upstairs. It was only four stories high.

A guard in a pale grey uniform stood by, watching him with an arched brow. Then he spoke up. "You that guy, uh..."

Vincent turned his eyes on him.

The guard blanched. "You can go on upstairs, Mr. Valentine."

Vincent sighed and stepped over to the elevator. The man's grip was on his gun, he noted morosely. Then his sight was obscured as the elevator doors closed and he waited patiently. His heart thudded laboriously in his chest cavity. That, and the motion of moving directly against the force of gravity made him feel more ill at ease, as though this was not happening.

He stepped from the elevator on the fourth floor. It was quiet. The dark maroon carpet was almost salmon pink as the sunlight bleached it through the window at the end of the corridor. Several doors lined the walls, but there was only one of them he wanted and he knew without even knowing how which one it was. Vincent walked toward it and raised his hand uncertainly before knocking twice, held his breath, and waited.

After several agonizing moments, Vincent slowly let out his breath only to realize that maybe Luciel wasn't even home. The guard had not even bothered to mention that perhaps Luciel was out at all. Vincent then concluded that it was probably the guard's eagerness to get the frightening red-eyed man out of his sight immediately.

The gunman did not let this alteration in his plan to meet with him stir his frustration. Instead, he merely tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. He stepped into the office space and marveled at the sheer size of it. It was entirely comfortable, with a chair here, a couch over near a sizable bookshelf, and a desk near the corner. The windows were huge, and after a moment of examination noted the must be bullet proof or Luke would never have had them installed.

The sun was finishing its arc in the sky as it became afternoon. The shadows in the office grew darker, and the cool yellow light from the sun began to give the room a most intriguing glow. Vincent spent most of his time waiting by the bookshelf, paging through the books. Poetry. Plays. He noted several of them were directly from Vincent's own collection, and they were so old that they must have cost a fortune to gather.

"You've been treating yourself well," Vincent remarked to the absent old friend.

Suddenly the door opened. Vincent turned as he eyed the knob turning, until a flustered, impatient looking man with blond hair stepped into the room. He tossed his jacket into the chair close to the door again, and tossed his keys onto the coffee table next to it. Then he froze, pinning Vincent against the bookshelf with surprised, bright blue-green eyes.

In a breathless whisper, Luciel said to him, "You came. I knew you'd come."

Vincent nodded slowly. He had the picture of Saph in his pocket. It was unnecessary to bring it up, but he wanted to let him know that it was him. In case Luciel refused to believe. Presently he took in the appearance of a man he had not seen in years. The bags under Luke's eyes deepened; there were wrinkles where there once had been clean, unblemished skin. The youth and snarky grin of his youth was replaced by a smile that Vincent hadn't yet seen. Instead of wearing a ridiculously garrish clown outfit, or the over-sized clothes from Vincent's closet, he wore his own set of clothes. It was a black business suit, shirt-collar open, the tie loosened, making him look like an overdressed boozer instead of a respectable citizen.

And there was a surprising thing: the slight unshapely bulge under his arm where there was a pistol.

Vincent finished his examination with a feeling of quavering nostalgia. Luciel was different. Vincent had barely changed.

Vincent decided to get straight to business. He stepped toward the couch, and sat down, speaking coldly, "Tell me everything you know about these men, where they work, who they are, and what they can do."

Luciel shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. But when Vincent took charge, he was both relieved and annoyed. First of all, they hadn't seen each other in years. Vincent didn't even bother to ask him how he was.

But he bit back his anger and said in equal coldness, in a voice that struck Vincent as vaguely unsettling, "They're a group of mass murderers. Basically, they are loyalists who supported Shinra. They try to overthrow the new government but they keep failing. They're attempts to kill the new president have left hundreds of people dead already. And now I think they're going to try this new tactic to hold these kids hostage. I don't know what they want, and they haven't put out a statement yet, but all I care about is getting Saph back."

Vincent nodded. He listened, but didn't look at Luciel. It was strange to look into the eyes of someone who had loved him - passionately, in fact. And Vincent's guilt began to mount again. He had his reasons. Terrible reasons, but they were the only ones he had.

"How much do you want?" Luciel asked suddenly.

Vincent looked up, bemused. "I don't want your money."

"You must want something, right?" The businessman twisted a button on his jacket around idly, pacing in front of him. "I mean, you sit around doing nothing all this time and you don't have much, you must want something, don't you?"

"I don't want your money," the gunman repeated firmly, but in a blank tone.

"Fuck you," Luciel spat. "You're taking something. And even if you don't want it, you'd better take it, and if you somehow indirectly give it back to me--" His threat fell unheard and unfinished. He gave a heavy sigh, and turned away. "Well, I found out where they might be hiding. It's a start." He tossed him a sheaf of papers, which Vincent looked at it critically.

There was a blueprint of an old building on the outskirts of Kalm. It had once been a theatre with a bell tower, but a year ago had fallen into dilapidation and ruin. The other pages gave small details and key details in abundance about the members of this group.

"Where did you get these?" Vincent asked at last.

"I have my sources," Luke replied coolly, surprising him with a wink. "Now, are you going to take the job, or not? And yes, you are going to accept my money."

Vincent nodded. "I will take the job... but I am not accepting your money." Then with withering, stubborn look, he pushed himself out of the chair, the brilliant gold light from the windows catching the dull, scratched metal of the claw on his left hand.

"Come on," Luciel sighed at last. "You can't go barging into Hell with a weapon like that. Don't look so offended! These men are not your garden variety thugs." Luciel paused on his way to the door. His eyes looked troubled. His troubles were directed inward, always inward. "I want you to make sure you keep those kids safe..."


	3. Chapter 3

- - - -

Underneath the howling of violent, torrential winds, the street lights broke, leaving the terrified world in disconcerting darkness. Everything trembled as the hurricane force winds knocked against windows, doors, and storm shelters. Rain kicked open people who weren't prepared, invaded their homes, and soaked everything. Soon, nothing was sacred to the storm. Blue and white lightning cut open the night like a surgeon's knife, revealing only a dreamer's glimpse of the nightmare that ensued. Power lines toppled, trees broken and thrown aside, water crashing against stone and breaking them. And this was only inland, where the storm would have supposedly lost most of its strength. But the hurricane tumbled on, violent as ever, ignoring the laws of nature and barreling into Midgar with a ferocity that rivaled the strength of a high-level Summon materia.

In the hours that the storm would have begun to reach the mountains and finally dissipate, the eye-wall passing harmlessly over uninhabited land, underground was the ideal place to be. Even as water spiralled down emergency water-ways, dumping back into the ocean, even as waterfalls fell into the old slums were entirely flooded with water, there were places deeper still that no other man's feet had touched for decades.

Metal grates, cat-walks, rusted metal piping criss-crossed the underground water treatment facility. Further on was a water station, a squatty, cracked building which had lost much of its structure to explosion and earthquake and collapsed earth. Stone and metal crushed together. Even darker still were the remnants of people, whole skeletons in the dust, tattered cloth and time-bleached ShinRa insignias. Even perfectly preserved bodies, buried alive in the darkest of blackness.

The water station was lit by yellowed lanterns and torches stuck into the walls between the cracks. It glowed like the center of a very menacing volcano, about to erupt in the shadows. Two figures invaded the circle of sick, sallow light and headed toward the metal door with "Do Not Enter - Workers Only" on its front in scratched, white paint. One person was in a long cloak with a voluminous hood, white, and the other was wearing a black uniform, tattered at the sleeves, which were rolled up, revealing white arms with black tattooed designs that haven't seen the sun in months.

"Kendal," said the man with the tattoos. His hair was tied away in a mass of silky white hair, revealing his soft angular face, feminine mouth, glowing Mako eyes and sharp nose. "What will we do with the children when we find the one?"

"Don't ask me. I don't know yet." The hooded man opened the door, twisting the handle with a heavy scraping groan from the mechanism, entered the better lit area beyond. The light-bulbs blazed white and new, and although water damage and time had worn away most of the water treatment's green paint, it still felt like a comfortable place to be. Couches were dragged in from the outside, lowered by a pulley-elevator a few yards away, then carried over tumbled rocks that concealed it from view; the journey felt like miles to a normal human. But to Kendal and his spikey-headed companion, very little could faze them.

A man with black hair and a smile that was just as handsome as it was capable of wilting flowers, drew back his hood, letting his locks of black, midnight hair tumble free. The main corridor was empty. Three doors opened off into other rooms Only two of them were still in use. They walked shoulder to shoulder even though they had six feet of clearance on one side.

Through one door, Kendal already knew that his charges were waiting. They spoke softer, unable to help the ungodly squealing of the other door as the entered their quarters. The children would probably remain asleep for a long time, realizing that it was useless crying. Children were like precursors to all mankind, Kendal thought. Just sit there and cry.

"When we find the right one," the soft-voiced man asked, "we'll set the other children free, right?"

Kendal didn't answer. He removed his cloak, bunching it up while he sat in a busted up leather chair. He had the drawn, tired look of someone pushed to his limits. But that couldn't be farther from the truth.

The man edged closer. "Kendal!" He dropped to his one knee, leaning against his companion's leg. "Kendal, answer me. What are you going to do?"

The man opened his mouth, slurring, "I don't know. I just don't know." And sighed, companionably touching his friend's hair, tugging on his bangs gently, until the other man closed his eyes, resting his cheek on his knee. "Did they go to sleep, Seth?"

"They have." Bare, tattooed hands gently moved along the length of Kendal's legs. It was an easy, slow motion, meant to comfort, and relax... and encourage the other to spread them a bit, as he kneeled obediently between the wide spread knees. "Which means..."

"...We are alone," Kendal finished, watching him with lidded, gleaming eyes. He took his hands, pulling him closer, until Seth's chin was finally resting against his belt. White hair was mascarading the slightly obvious look of blind adoration and love that emanated from his winter sky blues. In perfect psychic understanding, Seth gently began to disengage one belt piece from another while Kendal's fingers moved of their own will through the other man's soft pale locks.

"Leave off," said a cold voice from behind them. Kendal froze, and turned to stare as a dark blonde-headed man emerged from another room behind them. He had the look of someone who'd just swallowed something sour. "Keep your wang in your pants, Kendal. We ain't out of the shit yet."

Seth did not show his disappointment. In his heart of hearts, he'd been hoping the sour-dispositioned blonde would have been away for at least another hour. While he stood up and Kendal moodily adjusted his trousers again, Sky circled around them, poring over a map that had been nailed to the wall.

"So this is it? The last batch of dumb brattish children... and you're saying you sense at least one of them is the one?" Sky directed this question at Seth, whose cool blue eyes seemed to melt into a darker hue. "So that's it then. You'll let us know direct, won't you?"

"Yes," Seth hissed through his teeth. "But keep in mind that it will take some time before they seriously begin to warm up to me. Children are highly perceptive. I've told you this before."

"Best to walk carefully amongst your egg shells, then!" Sky snapped, turning slightly redder in the face before Kendal stood and turned him around, patting his face.

"Relax," Kendal murmured, then kissed both cheeks. "My brothers. My friends. We will bring the Truth to the world. They will know the Way."

- - - -

In the darkness, a young teenager lay awake, listening to the breathing of the other warm bodies around her. She'd been pleased to find that it was finally quiet again, but still couldn't fathom how all of them could actually be asleep. She'd struggled to close her eyes and force herself to sleep; not so, while her mind was trying to conjure up what these men were truly capable of. They had the look of really cute rock stars, but every one of them, she thought, were uncouth, unkempt murderers. She never trusted men, not from what she'd learned from childhood.

Before she was adopted by her father (her eyes stung when she thought of him, how worried he must be), she'd been betrayed by a man she had thought was her family's most trusted friend. But he abused that trust - to his disadvantage. He thrown into a penitentiary before he could say "chocobos". After that things just went downhill. Both of her parents were killed in the chaos that was Emerald Weapon, throwing her into an orphanage with about a hundred others like her.

Shortly afterward, well, she'd struck lucky at last. She'd been adopted by Luciel, who had enough money to adopt about seven kids her age. But he insisted he only wanted one.

Her name had always been Saph. It was the name her mother had given her, and it was a name she wanted to keep, and she'd told Luke just the same the rainy evening that he'd signed her into his custody at a filthy, gritty orphanage at the edges of Midgar.

Lying awake in what she was convinced was Hell, she strived to remember the happy times she'd enjoyed growing up with a man of such wealth. It wasn't money to her. It wasn't luck to be so fortunate. She truly loved and appreciated Luciel with all of her heart. It was the next best thing to the unconditional support she'd only barely remembered from her past. Only his was just the same, and almost scary in his eagerness to make her happy and about as spoiled rotten as he could make her.

Saph tucked her knees up to her chest, trying not to breathe through her nose. The sleeping bag she had currently crammed herself into smelled like mildew and wood rot, a sickening stench that reminded her of cold oatmeal in her mouth, and the perfume that the white-haired guy tried to spray on so that the smell wouldn't be half as bad.

Saph shut her hazel-brown eyes and thought, _ How the hell am I going to get out of this?_

- - - -

"I'm going with you," Luciel said decisively. "I trust you. But since you won't take my money, you aren't going alone. Deal?"

Vincent, watching as the black walls of the subway fled past his line of sight, nodded and sighed at the same time. His lengthy dark hair now covered his eyes, while he stared out the window of the subway. They stood close together, neither one of them willing to allow the other to touch him. Vincent was now fully capable of storming a relatively high-guarded building, or fighting a long, grueling battle with a ShinRa war tank. The most impressive thing was that none of his weapons were visible right away. Luciel was not so heavily armed, feeling that his inexperience with weapons no bigger than a shotgun was sourly limiting.

Even so, he'd become exceptionally wonderful with his handguns and uzis. It gave him a sort of pleasure and eagerness to show Vincent Valentine just how much he'd been practicing. But then that thought was foolish enough to make him keep silent. He watched him out of the corner of his eye, aching to speak to him. He felt like he was standing with a stranger.

_Remember what he wrote_, said a voice in his mind. _He doesn't love you. Someone who's dead and gone still owns him. _

Vincent watched the tunnel walls flicker by without so much as looking at Luciel. Then, slowly, he turned his eyes and watched him. They stared each other down until the subway suddenly gave a heart-stopping groan and lurch, almost knocking Luciel from his feet if he hadn't been holding on to the bar above his head. He gave a curse, and only just missed Vincent as he stepped away from them and opened the subway door, looking out. The car was still slowly moving. The light washed back and forth over Vincent as he looked first one way, then the other.

From somewhere a voice cried, "What the hell is going on?"

Vincent glanced to Luciel, before he jumped from the subway. Luciel was quick to follow.

The tunnel was dark. Half of the lights were off; up ahead was the smell of twisted metal and dust. Luciel covered his nose and mouth, muffling a sneeze. The pair ran down the length of the tunnel to the front of the subway train, until he reached the end. The subway had smashed headlong into a wall of tumbled rocks and stone. Vincent's face was slightly whiter.

"We were lucky it didn't explode," Luciel murmured ominously. "Or we'd all be swimming in a sea of Mako playing harps."

"Very funny," Vincent replied without one whit of amusement. He jumped into the first train, covering his head as a shower of sparks exploded from somewhere up above. He pulled open the door to the driver car and then proceeded to rescue the man inside. Luciel took him from his arms and laid him out on the ground.

The last man was dead. Vincent emerged with him himself and laid him down flat. Luciel turned away, shaking his head. Some of the passengers were coming out, including a man wearing a police uniform. "Lead these people back to the nearest subway station," he ordered, his red eyes fixating on the man's badge before going to his face. "Make sure they have enough to eat. Tell everyone that the way is collapsed. Immediately."

The officer didn't need to be ordered, but he was still in shock. Hell, Luciel's ears were still ringing. Dust and smoke still cling to the air, trying to invade his lungs with every breath. He watched and made sure that everyone was safe while Vincent skillfully darted around the rubble. Luciel watched him before rolling his eyes, trembling as he slowly picked his way over sharp jagged rocks.

"Where are you going?" Luciel called after him. Vincent momentarily drifted out of sight, swallowed by a shadow. A moment later he came back, and motioned for him to follow. Luciel jumped, scrabbled up onto the large boulder beside him. "Where the hell d'you go?"

"There's a great hole in the rocks here where a girder is holding them up. That's where we have to go."

He turned away again, moving forward more slowly as Luciel fumbled inside his coat pocket for the flashlight he'd purchased just before boarding the subway train. He fixed the band around his wrist and held it aloft. Once they scurried through the entrance, the girder began to creak and groan. He dashed down the darkened tunnel, keeping Vincent's fleeing figure in sight, never less than four steps behind him. He could have reached out and grabbed his flying coat.

Behind him the crash came and then a cloud of dust lit by the single narrow window of light provided by the flashlight. He coughed and sneezed, while Vincent stopped. He started coughing. At first Luciel thought nothing of it because the dust WAS bad. Then his coughing turned nasty. Luciel quickly went over to him, to help, comfort, but Vincent shoved him away so hard that he fell against the grimy subway wall that his ears rang. His back ached.

A gob of bloody fluid was the end result of Vincent Valentine's coughing. He spat it up onto the ground. Luciel gasped and quickly turned his flashlight away. "Come on, you, we need to get away from all this dust."

"It is not the dust," Vincent murmured, straightening up. "But it doesn't matter. Let's move on. Douse that light, you won't need it up ahead."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I don't own FFVII or Dirge of Cerberus or Vincent Valentine nor nothing else related to FFVII. I do own Luciel, Sky, Kendal, and Seth... and that's more than I can say for a lot of things I have. Enjoy.

- - - -

Seth stepped into the room of children carrying a metal tray. It was morning, although none of the kids would have known it in the first place. He set it down on a crate as quietly as he could. The tray was banged up and rusted, but served the purpose of carrying the plates of gruel. Regretfully, gruel was the only functional meal around here. He didn't even like to eat it more than once or twice a day. Then again, he didn't need to eat very often at all.

He reached over and turned on the light. It flickered, and momentarily blinded him. A pair of white faces were already looking at him with apprehension and anxiety.

"I want my mommy," one of them said softly; he began to cry a little.

"Everyone will go home as soon as I find out if one of you is the one we need to help us," Seth said comfortingly. "I promise you that. Here, some of you should eat something." He held up a plate of rice and fried pork. It smelled better than the gruel.

A girl with dark hair and penetrating green eyes stared at him, then at the plate. "I don't like that crap. It tastes awful."

Many of the kids agreed with her. Seth knelt and balance the plate on his thigh, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "This is different, you understand. This is actually my breakfast, but I can't abide you eating this other stuff here. It can sustain you all if you each have some. It's better for you, at least."

Some of the children began stirring from their bedrolls, rubbing their eyes and looking at each other and at the silver-haired boy-creature who was offering them his better food. Gradually, he tempted them with a spoonful, then more came over. The only one who didn't eat was the girl with penetrating green eyes.

Seth stood, and stepped carefully over the sleeping bags and bedrolls toward her, his leather coat brushing past the children, who reached out to touch it as if touching the body of some holy being. He knelt in front of her. "Eat. You'll get sick if you don't."

"It's poisoned," she spat. "I'm not eating that shit!" She struck out at the plate - the contents spilled over the floor and she buried her face into the wall, away from him.

The children watched with wide eyes. Then they turned away and began talking to each other. Seth stared at the girl a moment longer. He tried to remember her name. Saph...Sephiroth? He stood up slowly, dusting his hands off and picking up the plate. His gaze fell on the group of children, sitting together. They seemed happier with food in their stomachs.

He left the room and locked it behind him. It wasn't long before Sky pinioned him against the wall and gave him a rough kiss on the mouth. "Brother!" he cried. "I was wondering if those little monsters had eaten you up."

"They're fine. Today, I think, I'll go back up to the surface and get them better food. They look terrible. That gruel--"

"--tastes like bat shit, I know." Sky ruffled his own hair and yawned. "I feel something..."

"You always feel something," the silver-haired man replied lovingly. He teased him with a poke to the groin. "You're horny twenty-four-seven."

"That's not true! I'm horny when we're fighting, and that's it." He pulled away and gave him a good-natured glare. Just as quickly, he'd forgotten what exactly he had sensed, as the sensation swept away in light of being accused of his promiscuity. "Anyway - you really want to go out today? It's a mess - we blew out that subway station last night, remember? It's going to be crawling with guards and soldiers for weeks."

"I can stay unseen for as long as I wish," Seth insisted. "Besides, it's better that I go alone rather than with the rest of you tagging along... complaining or bothering me with dumb riddles." Seth shrugged away and turned toward their living quarters in the grimy corridor of the water treatment station.

Kendal emerged. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and he tilted his head. "Shopping again? I swear, you're more and more a woman these days. Get your stuff then. Be careful." He stopped him momentarily, claiming his mouth in a soft, warming kiss. "For me."

- - - -

Vincent Valentine followed the subway tracks in the flickering darkness. Eventually the lights steadied. He didn't know what he should have been looking for, but in a way, he was glad that he didn't. It bought him much-needed time to collect his thoughts and sift through all the wild imaginings of a lonely old monster. Meanwhile his senses worked in autopilot, scanning in the shadows for any hint of a threat.

Through much-dwelt-upon worries, Vincent began to percieve the smell of Mako. It was a smell that was not comparable to anything else in the world and was probably the most unpleasant. It was faint, growing stronger as it was coming from a large open grate near the very end of the tunnel where a yellow and black security sign stood blocking the way.

"Who wants to go down the dark stinky hole?" Luciel said cheerfully, wiping his nose. "Is that Mako? That's awful. Ugh."

"This was opened recently." Vincent said, brushing aside the dust that was knocked off from the wall as the bolts were forced out. His red eyes searched the dark hole. He could hear the echo of his voice. This would take him a long ways down.

He moved the grate a little more, holstering his gun as he gripped the edge of the entrance and slid down. He disappeared beyond sight. Luciel followed, falling faster and faster so that he had to reach out and grab at the coarse metal so he wouldn't hit Vincent on the way down. He could have done with waiting a few more seconds, because Vincent barely jumped out of the way. Luciel tumbled out, and landed roughly on a catwalk that rattled when he struck it.

The catwalk creaked a little. The pair froze, before Luciel began inching for the ladder. He climbed down, holding his flashlight in his mouth. Floodlights lit the disturbing arena, blazing in the upper blackness like distant suns. The ladder took them 40 feet down into a reservoir filled with Mako. The combination of damp mold and oily Mako was almost unbearable.

The pair circled around the glowing sea of Mako with their nerves on fire from the aroma. The walls were covered in wetness from the recent rainfall. The hurricane had flooded this area badly. There was a series of concrete steps leading into another unlit area where the floodlights' power didn't reach. To the west of that was a dark, ominous tunnel, twenty feet tall and fifteen feet wide where there was nothing at all. Twisted metal and debris laid strewn at its entrance.

Vincent listened closely with his ears. He heard nothing but the faint dripping of water and Luciel's slow, calm breathing. That was good. But he knew that something in this place was wrong... that the debris was not from an explosion, for there was nothing charred for several feet around. Something had torn this place apart. He listened harder, turning his head toward the tunnel. After several moments, the gentle drifting of air and a deeper sound, like waves on the shore, came to his ears.

"Don't disturb anything," Vincent warned. "Something sleeps here." He stepped back from the tunnel entrance and turned toward the catwalks.

Luciel rubbed the back of his neck slowly, sighing. "Think we should stop and rest for now? I think I hit something earlier."

Vincent peered over at him. "That would depend entirely on you. How quickly do you want to find your daughter, Luciel?"

Luciel met his gaze with a slight glare. He wanted to see her very much, safe and sound. He refused to believe she had come to harm, or worse... death. "I want to find her... but I don't want to rush in and get anyone hurt. I don't know how you know this is the right place to go, but--" He turned his head, and just happened to notice something, or someone dressed in black, venture into the light from the concrete stairway. Then it saw him, and darted back.

Vincent turned around, seeing where his gaze went, and pointed his gun. Luciel angled his flashlight toward the stairs and pinpointed the man in black with his light. Vincent fired without asking any questions. The man threw several sharp knives at them, cutting Vincent's hand but doing very little damage at all. It was obvious he was wearing some kind of protective vest, so he readjusted and fired a last time. A spray of blood hit the stone wall behind the man from his calf and he tumbled out of sight.

The duo dashed off to find him before he could run off again. Blood drips glistened fresh up the stairs, where they abrubtly ended in a long corridor, immediately making the area feel small and enclosed. The spatter trail ended in the middle of the hallway. They both looked up, Luciel pointing his light up at a hole in the ceiling carved right out of the stone. Blood streaked the ceiling.

"Jesus," Luciel said.

"We need to follow him," Vincent said quietly. "But I don't think both of us can fit up there."

"Well, who--? Do _you_ want to go up there?"

"Give me a boost." Vincent waited for him as he stuck the flashlight in his teeth and knelt so Vincent could step onto his shoulders and clamber into the ceiling entrance.

"Vincent!"

The man disappeared for a moment. He poked his head down.

"Take this," Luke said. He held up the light, and Vincent took it before disappearing once more.

- - - -

Vincent crouched in the dark tunnel with his back against the wall. It was cramped, uncomfortable, and most of his belongings were poking him in places he'd rather they did not. He took the time to sense by feel where his bullets were before he began to reload them into the chamber. Sweat dripped down his face. It was hot here. A pipe lead down a narrow tunnel which he had to crawl to get down. In the little light provided from the hole next to him, he saw the path of blood continuing. The smell of Mako was fading, replaced by the smell of blood and iron.

He finished reloading and heard heavy breathing down the corridor. Then a grunt of pain, tearing cloth. He slid forward, moving carefully. Two points of light glittered at him.

"Stop right there. I can see you clearly." The man in black stared at him, huddled up with his leg extended. He sat in a puddle of his own blood. "You're very clever coming down here. Was it very difficult?"

"Not particularly," Vincent said, aiming between those two points of light. Glowing eyes. "I'd like to know before you die what you're doing here. I wouldn't argue. That's a lot of blood."

"Are you thirsty?" he replied, the other's eyes glittering daringly. "This is nothing..." He smiled by the glow of his own eyes as he slid further away. "Leave this place before it kills you."

Vincent regarded him evenly, and then scooted forward when the man in black slid away and down into another hole, disappearing into a room below. He limped away out of sight. Vincent jumped down, just as the door burst open. The corridor must have connected into this room and Luciel tumbled in, just as the man in black produced a pistol of his own and fired at him.

Luciel squawked and dropped to the ground, ducking his head. "Son of a bitch!" He lifted his gun and shot at him, missing every single time as the man in black fled once more through another doorway that swung and creaked on its hinges. Vincent stood up slowly, and a few seconds later his companion joined him. "Yeah, I highly doubt he's some creepy hermit. For one thing, nobody would be running after a shot like that. Well, except maybe you...right?"

"Correct," Vincent replied. "Which means we are definitely going in the right direction. Let's keep following him. Just do me one favor...and stay behind me."

"You're so caring," Luciel sighed, and leaned close go give him a tight hug. "My hero!"

"Please," Vincent growled, pushing him back. "This is my personal space. Stay out."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Nothing particularly of importance to say, other than please read and review and yadda yadda, the baddies and Luciel belong to yours truly, but Vincent doesn't, and neither does Cloud and other SquareSoft icons... thank you.

- - - -

Vincent had seperated from Luciel when they went through the door and found yet another underground cave blocked their path. As soon as he was a good distance away he leaned against the wall, trying to calm his breathing as the fire spread inside his lungs, each breath like hot, scalding sand. He squeezed his hand over his chest and turned into the wall before continuing on, his chest rattling constantly. He gave himself a little shake. The smell of blood aroused the monster inside of him like nothing else. There was no hint of blood trail this time, so they had decided to split up.

On the other side of the little maze, Luciel was walking along with his head looking in all directions. Knowing that he was about to shot at brought back a lot of memories. He remembered feeling at odds with everything around him when fleeing the Shinra Turks with Vincent. He didn't forget how it felt to fall asleep with him in the car, the warmth of his breath against his cheek, the warmth of their bodies sustaining the heat to be comfortable.

It was easier to remember all that when Vincent wasn't with him. Of course Luciel didn't wish he could return to being his old self. He had come to terms with that awhile ago, realizing that something terrible did happen to Vincent that went far beyond their foolish daliance. A deep wound that Luciel would have to work hard to help heal. But not now. After he rescued his daughter. For now he was pissed off that he had approximately jack for ideas about which way he was supposed to go. He was tired of running; his feet felt like leaden objects glued to the ends of his aching legs. He kept his complaints to himself until he saw a door just ahead.

He cupped his hands. "Vincent! I found the door!"

A few moments later Vincent seperated himself from the shadows, becoming a new shadow before he was clear again. The gunman bent his head, covering his mouth. Luciel's body temperature felt like it plummeted. He jumped away from the door and grabbed onto him. "What's wrong with you?" he said. "Vincent, c'mon, we gotta get moving."

"Can't," he breathed, leaning against him. Luciel happened to brush his hair back from his face. It was burning hot.

"Damn it! Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" Luciel said accusingly, sitting him down on the ground. "I could have waited or found someone else to help me."

"That's really heartening to hear you say that," Vincent snapped, growling and grimacing at him. "Perhaps you're right. And then maybe you would have lived happily ever after with someone else by your side."

"Are you saying you're jealous? You're sending awfully mixed messages here. You can't convince me otherwise about what kind of person you are. Nobody else but you would have agreed to help me find my kid. Everyone else would have laughed at me. Nobody cares about one stupid orphan. But she's _my_ orphan!"

Vincent said nothing.

Luciel sat next to him in the dirt, closing his eyes and resting his face in his hands. _Why did I have to be a jerk and bitch at him like that? _"Let's just take a break now. I don't think he'll get very far with an injury like that..."

"He had glowing eyes," Vincent said. "Like Cloud or Sephiroth. I couldn't see the rest of his face..."

"That's okay. At least we know almost what he is." Luciel propped himself up against the wall by the door and smiled at him warmly. "Come over here and relax. We'll get some shut-eye."

Vincent, deep in his heart, felt the sting of Luciel's resentment. He needn't have to say it. He could hear it, staining the mirror of his reflection with black ink from a thousand letters he hadn't written. When he leaned his head against the soft earth he stared into the darkness above them, an endless expanse where invisible eyes watched.

Luciel was curled up against the wall, facing the outside world with his pistol in his hand, safety on, pressed against his cheek. He stared for a long moment. The way the small light played on the metal, the softness of his hair, tied back from his face. Long, blonde strands. His eyes didn't move underneath the closed lids. Luciel was perfect when he was asleep. He was beautiful and young when he was awake... but when he slept, he was an angel.

The gunman turned away, closing his eyes and trying to remember a time before Hojo. It seemed thousands of years into a past that didn't belong to him. Luciel loved a different man, someone wholly different... more human. A man who could still feel-- he couldn't even think of the word, it ill-suited his thoughts. He rolled over, clutching his metal arm to himself. A ghost of sensation flowed through it as he squeezed it to his aching ribcage.

Slowly as his thoughts wound down, the sensation faded as well. Of course he felt nothing in his arm. It was gone. Just as if Hojo had torn out his heart, he imagined that he felt nothing there either. If he did...

What if he did? Luciel never looked at anyone else like he looked at Vincent. He knew from how he handled his dealings with others that he had an impatient air around them. He wanted to get rid of them as soon as he could, shake them off as a chocobo shook away the flies.

He couldn't get enough of Vincent. He wanted to talk to him, baited him with conversation starters which Vincent consented to discuss for about as long as Luciel could keep the string of questions going. But it was good to talk to someone... even though Vincent wouldn't admit it.

How could he tell them that the heart he had so selflessly given belonged to a dead man? Unacceptable. Luciel wouldn't accept no for an answer, no more than he would accept no when he was a younger man, full of vigor and that desperate, endearing need to be loved. How could anyone refuse such a need? Vincent had. Oh, he did it straight-faced and undisturbed. No trace of how it tore himself apart had appeared in his writing of that last letter before he left Luciel unconscious in his apartment.

He couldn't let Luciel continue like he had. He couldn't stand by and watch him destroy himself for something as wretched and soaked in sin as Vincent Valentine. He felt his own heartbeat slow as his breathing took a turn for the more relaxed. _No_, he insisted softly as the dreams took him into nightmares. _No, Luciel... I can't...I can't..._

- - - -

Luciel turned over slowly, and faced the wall against which he'd been sleeping for about an hour or so. He sat up slowly, a tightness having wound its way around his neck and down his back. He didn't feel like he'd slept at all.

Vincent was already awake. Perhaps he hadn't even fallen asleep at all. His face looked drawn and pale and, if his vision didn't fail him, eyes bloodshot and puffy. Hours of non-sleep did that to a person. Luciel also could hear his rattling breathing from where he was standing, ten feet away. He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing.

"He'll be long gone by now," he said softly, checking his watch. "But I think if we don't come across anymore troubles like this one, we'll be alright reaching their hideout and the kids."

Vincent said nothing.

Luciel tilted his head in his direction, saw the cool profile of his hero trapped in what appeared to be a brooding, meditative state. His perfectly proportioned nose, his ruby-red eyes. The man wondered how in the hell it all happened, that Vincent Valentine had just disappeared completely. And there was this strange, brooding monster in his place, claiming his name. Not a day older.

So different, though. Uncanny. Luciel was tempted to reach out and take his arm, touch his face, see if he could see that same fire spark inside of him. It would be so very easy. What the hell? Luciel moved, his feet stepped automatically as he stood beside him and took his hand. Vincent froze. It seemed every function was completely arrested by this very innocent, soft touch.

Luciel frowned, holding onto him and tilting his head up at him. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Myself," Vincent said tenderly, slowly detaching his fingers from his metal claw. Luciel didn't move.

"Do I still mean anything to you? I mean, I know angst and misery are your realm of expertise, but I'd like to think that maybe you look at me and miss me... sometimes. That I'm someone you actually cared about..." the other gunman sighed, brushing his hair back with a sigh. "Besides just... some guy you knew, a long time ago."

Vincent stepped up toward the doorway and slowly pushed the door open. His back was to him, hiding his face. When he spoke, it was with great patience and chilling apathy. "I was hoping you would be sensible and move on. I told you that person is dead."

"I don't believe that for a minute. After all you could have flipped me off and walked away without another word. But I called and you came like some knight in shining armor, to help me save a young girl you don't even know! You're here, aren't you? And you may not be the same person. I won't be stupid and think that you haven't changed. But I still want to know you again. I don't think I'll ever stop being that boy who wanted you more than anything else in the world."

Vincent said nothing. Luciel narrowed his eyes. Sometimes, he really got annoyed with his large spans of silence. They traveled for an hour, climbing over things, traveling a handful of miles as they did so, over sharp rocks, hunks of metal, as though the whole of Midgar had sunk beneath the earth to rot and moulder for eternity. They felt their way through the darkness and the wet moisture that seeped from everything, like blood from open wounds. Throughout it all, a heavy, choking luminescent fog hung over everything. Vincent's only words after a long silence was to warn against its poison.

Vincent finally came to a stop. They reached a long, open tunnel, where piles of rock where stalagmites met stalagtites met to create solid struts for the upper crust to rest upon. Across tumbled boulders, there was a small water treatment station sitting beside an empty reservoir with the lights off. The blood trail was only an hour old.

"Gotta be in there," Luciel said, trembling as he crouched behind a rock. "Nowhere else they can be. This is the biggest chamber yet... What are they planning to do with these kids, all the way down here?"

Vincent didn't say anything, but he began to sense a power underneath all these rocks. It was a gentle tremulation that was undetectable by most men - but Vincent could sense it,directly beneath his feet. Not the deep, heavy breathing of the monster near the subway entryway. But something alive nonetheless. Something... waiting.

Suddenly Luciel straightened, stiffened, like a well-trained canine straining at the leash, but not pulling hard. His eyes lightened. The doors were opening. Vincent watched in interest, his hand slowly bringing back the hammer of his weapon. The dripping of the caverns masked the metallic, heavy clicking.

A man with black hair and another man with blonde hair stepped out. Luciel held his breath, not because of his apprehension, but because of stark surprise. He hadn't met him in person, nor had he been greatly interested in looking at his TV interview, but all of his good sense told him that the blonde man looked almost exactly like Cloud Strife.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I had to change one detail in Chapter 1 to fit this chapter, because I'm dry for ideas, and I wanted to post this so it would make sense... I needed to write more about Vincent and what he had been doing before recieving the summons from Luciel.

- - - -

When Vincent had walked in Cloud's footsteps on his travels and faced with Hojo, he thought that all of his pain would at last become scoured by rage and the satisfaction of watching that damned excuse of a human being fall to his knees in defeat. And then consequently bleed out of the many holes Vincent had shot into his body. Retribution was sweet - painful memories of long nights, death, rape, abuse incomparable to anything else - _all for you, Lucrecia... For you, Luciel..._

Instead, as he had feared, vengeance was best served cold and he had waited years to get his revenge. So why, then, when it was all over and he walked away from the Midgar Cannon feeling absurdly empty and bereft, utterly stripped of everything he thought he had become. Even then, this feeling faded as AVALANCHE moved onto its next target - Sephiroth and hopefully his final redemption.

Lucrecia had asked him to look after Sephiroth, her only son. In that dark, decadent cavern behind the waterfall, her spirit, her ruined soul, had beseeched him to look after him. It was a promise he could not keep, like so many others. A promise that, in some way, shape or form, he would betray - not only would he find Sephiroth, but he would be forced to kill him. Let Lucrecia keep the memory of the child she never knew and raised. Vincent would destroy the reality and keep sacred her secret memories in her heart.

She could never know the horrible truth of it. He could never bring himself to tell her, nor return to desecrate the place where she had remained for so long with his monstrous presence.

By journey's end, he spared few words with his companions. On the Highwind, very few words were exchanged except only when absolutely necessary. He often sought solace on the deck outside, letting the cold wind whip his black hair from his face, let loose the cowl that covered his face, and stood with his arms outstretched as the air pulled around him. It was hard to stand upright with his cloak like a sail, trying to pull him off the ship, into oblivion. While he fought the force of wind, he thought about all he had seen, all he had been through. The emptiness in his soul still ached, and bled doubt and loneliness into the chasm and filled it. He was helpless to stop it.

He had nowhere else to go. He could not burden his companions with his presence, not when he had things to do. Old friends to see. Or rather, one friend in particular. But even as he stood outside of his apartment a month later, hidden in the dark as a phantom of shadow, only truly visible to keener eyes, he could not bring himself to the door, or to sneak in through an upstairs window via the fire escape. He just watched him move about on that floor, sometimes from the rooftop across the street, so he could see him. Vincent would lay down in the darkness amongst the smoke stacks and stare into the windows, watching as shadows moved and wondering which one might be Luciel.

During these long nights, he often fell asleep until his pains awoke him, wrought by the evils Hojo had bestowed upon his body. He then would leave just as the sunlight flirted at the horizon with pinks and scarlets and golds. His eyes loved the sight, regardless of how some light actually hurt his eyes.

Months passed without incident. He briefly ran a gun shop with Barret, who only put up with Vincent's idiosyncrasies when he was put in the back room, constructing the weapons. Even then, Vincent was uncharacteristically restless doing something he more or less enjoyed. Eventually he resigned from his position as expert gunsmith and let the wind carry him again.

He traveled to Kalm from Midgar. The journey took little more than a day if he took his time, shooting monsters and getting the bounty for them. When he arrived in Kalm, he met Cloud. The man had dark circles under his eyes, and immediately pulled him toward the Seventh Heaven II, a building remarkably not unlike the original bar except for the materials and the paint.

The pair sat together in the smoke free zone, due to Vincent's condition. Cloud ordered something hard while Vincent consigned to just a glass of water, and the new girl in a denim skirt and an off-white short sleeve button shirt brought them to them.

"I can't talk to Tifa about this," Cloud murmured softly as he drank. Vincent watched him, motionless other than his breathing, which sounded slightly ragged. "She has enough on her mind and... we're supposed to be together, you know?"

Vincent said nothing, but motioned for him to continue as he sipped his water.

Cloud ran his hands tiredly through his blonde hair. "It's about Aeris..."

"I see," Vincent replied softly. "You are still having trouble letting her go?"

"That's it, exactly," Cloud mumbled, covering his head with his arms. He shook his head back and forth. He was witholding something, although what Vincent couldn't say. But Cloud would not have come to him if he was not sure he would understand.

"I had a dream last night," Cloud said. "About Aeris... and how she... died. But it was different." He moistened his lips with his alcoholic drink again, the dark liquid disappearing between his lips. Vincent found himself fascinated by the haggard appearance of Cloud, and the way his fingers drummed restlessly. He looked everywhere but at Vincent's eyes. "She had black hair.. and she didn't look like Aeris at all... But it was _exactly the same_. The pain was the same, too."

"Perhaps it was someone you once knew," Vincent said softly. "And it stuck in your mind, even penetrated your deepest grief. I don't want to say that it could mean something when it wouldn't, and you would search fruitlessly for this girl who does not exist. Cloud, best that you forget it. You cannot lose sleep over her anymore."

He reached his human hand across the table and grasped at Cloud's, who strangely accepted his touch. The ex-SOLDIER gave him a weak smile. "Enough about me... thank you for listening to me. So what about you? Don't you have any old friends left? I'm sure someone is still around."

Vincent had grudgingly admitted that yes, perhaps there was one man who would be happy to see him, but wasn't it also agreeable that he would rather have nothing more to do with him? Vincent found the latter preferable, because the former was too painful. How could he hold him in his arms again, feel his touch and his heart beat almost in time with his own? After all that, how dare he, Vincent, walk back into his life and ask politely, 'May I please pick up where we left off? I'm sorry I cut it off but I was mistaken.'

Luciel had years to put aside the pain of Vincent's abandonment. No, Vincent would not tread past his threshold again to his detriment. Luciel would not recieve him kindly - Vincent had spent but days in his life, but knew him well enough that Luciel may sooner shot him through the eye than accept him warmly and with open, eager arms.

Cloud looked him straight in the eye and said, "You should see him right now. Before it's too late."

Vincent was jarred from his guilty reasoning and stood abrubtly, excusing himself and bidding Cloud a good day. Then he vanished from Seventh Heaven and wandered the dirty slums of Midgar the following evening with the waifs trying to tug at his cloak, trying to seduce him with their fair skin and nubile bodies to enjoy their flesh when all he wanted was to be left alone. He turned them down; he gave them gil for their troubles. He never went farther than the edge of the city, where the truly poverty-ridden places were. Cardboard boxes and crates were stacked together and fit to tip over if the slightest sharp breeze blew, while children played in stagnant waters. Vincent looked at them and without realizing it, stretched out his hand that had the currency, gil, in it... he passed it around to the adults. He told them where the best buys were for food. He gave them directions, and they were off.

He felt tears in his eyes. They all of them looked at him with fear but accepted his donations without question. They praised him as a saint - no one cared in this wretched world for them. The new president's relief efforts were not fast in coming, and many criticized his efforts although he assured them that he was doing the best he could.

Vincent was not interested in politics. He had other things on his mind.

After the alley battle with the gunmen, he recieved the letter from Luciel. What had been on his mind was not quite clear, because the demons inside of him were roused by his turmoil, and clawed inside of him to be free. He was thinking of Luciel and what he might do to visit him at last, before something happened that would force him to regret his avoidance.

Vincent thought of these things as he watched a man very like Cloud walk with the black-haired man. It was obviously not Cloud. But seeing him had reminded him of that moment when Cloud had taken his hand, and confided in him the strange dream. Vincent narrowed his eyes on the figure, and felt Luciel stir to get a better shot.

Where in the name of Perdition were the children?

Then he saw Luciel move forward, slipping down through the shadows with the black flashlight between his teeth, the light turned off. Vincent hissed slightly, gripped the gun in his hand tighter before beginning to follow him through the loose stones, any one of which would betray their presence.

Fortunately Luciel stopped and looked on. The two men were still playing the sentinels, apparently waiting for something as they stood in front of the door. Suddenly the doors opened again, and the silver-haired person emerged, limping heavily, and supported by two of the older children... neither one was was the dark-haired Saph from the photograph.

She was, Vincent noted, the girl who suddenly bolted from the group and scrambled over the rocks as fast as she could go. The dark-haired man pointed, and the Cloud look-alike dashed in pursuit, leaping effortlessly in front of her. She cursed him in every name she knew before he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back.

Luciel tensed, rocking forward on the balls of his feet, a visible line of concentration edging his features. Her screams and curses of outrage echoed back to them. Luciel said very softly, "That's it, baby, kick the shit out of him if you can. Don't ever give them no slack!"

Vincent reached out to grasp his arm. Luciel turned to look at him, although he was intensely concentrating on his daughter.

"We have to be careful, for her sake. We cannot charge in on them. Not when they have so many children... but perhaps--"

"What?"

"The three of them can't possibly look after them all," Vincent went on, watching keenly as they herded the children glumly through a path in the stones, visible for a few hundred meters. "They are moving them because we let the silver-haired one get away."

Luciel grunted gently in affirmation. Of course. Seth had led them straight to the hideout and for whatever reason decided it was better to move. It wasn't a wise thing to do. The trio could have held them off easily - the water station was thick-walled and well fortified.

"We'll split up," Vincent murmured, slowly standing up. "I'll distract them somehow. You get the kids to follow you and I'll keep them busy."

"By yourself?" Luciel was horrified. No way, he thought. NO fucking way I'm leaving him alone to the mercy of two mysterious dudes and one angry injured Sephiroth clone freak.

But none of these words left his lips as Vincent bunched his legs, and leapt blindly into the shadows above them. Obviously Luciel had never thought to look up since it was so black. He didn't see Vincent even come down. SO he followed the group through the tunnels for as long as he could, waiting for the distraction.

It came when they were about to enter another of those half-drowned tunnels filled with water up to the knees. The children were clinging pathetically to each other, and those who trusted their captives were trying to cling to them. The silver-haired one was limping, and occasionally stopped to rest before hurrying to catch up.

At this time, gunshots rang violently against the cavernous darkness. From above, chunks of rock and metal debris detached from the unseen ceiling and descended, crashing into knee-deep water and drenching everything within close proximity. On the largest piece, Vincent stood up slowly from crouching on top like a dark angelic warrior, and from his two hands rang the thunder that never hit a single child. The men split apart and dashed in opposite directions. Luciel lunged from his hiding place and immediately cried out to them above the din.

"Follow me! Everybody, follow me! Saph!"

She turned around. Her eyes widened and she lunged through the water, collapsing against her father's chest, crushing him in a massive, strong grip. "DAD!"

He held her. Vincent flew, jumping along the fallen rocks which had landed in the water, rolling and diving as his guns blazed; his distraction was well-in-hand, so Luciel had to hurry. "Tell the kids to follow me! We'll get out this way!"

Saph's voice rose above. The silver-haired man glanced at them as the children all started circuiting around the fighting. Vincent was shooting carefully now. Bullets struck the water, puckered its surface. Seth sliced and lunged at him, but he was slowed up by water and injury. At last Kendal snarled, "Stop them!" and motioned to the children, who were almost through the tunnel, into bright, liberating sunlight.


End file.
